Sick of this Life
by quixotic-hope
Summary: Suicide. AU. Not slash. Repost from my old account. It's really not very good. I don't know why I'm reposting it actually. This is a great summary, isn't it? Uh...the end of the war...sucks. Goes back to the saying No one really wins a war.


**Sick of this Life**

**Harry Potter and Co. belong to J.K. Rowling. The title is taken from the sond "Untitled" by Simple Plan. This used to be a songfics but I didn't want my account to be deleted so I had to get rid of the lyrics. If you have the song I'd advise listening to it while reading this.**

Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter rolled out of bed and sauntered into the bathroom to take a shower. He washed his hair and body, got out, and dried off. He tried not to pay too much attention to the clothes he was pulling on, as that would only make things worse. Looking at himself in the mirror, Harry decided he looked good enough. His eyes were bloodshot; his hair was even more of a mess than usual; huge black circles had taken up permanent residence under his eyes; his black robes hung off of his emaciated body. Harry sighed and resignedly left his apartment. He really hated funerals.

Only a week had passed since Voldemort's defeat. Harry had been to four funerals already, and the month had barely even begun. This next funeral was going to be the worst, though. Almost the entire Weasley family had been killed. Only Bill remained. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had died trying to save Ron and Ginny from the Death Eaters that raided their house. Ron and Ginny had died trying to save Harry in the final battle, right alongside Hermione. The others had been killed along the way. The remaining Weasley decided to have the family buried together. He decided to have Hermione buried with them as well since, had they both lived, she and Ron would have gotten married at the end of the year anyway.

After the funeral Harry found his way into a bar. Usually he was against drinking one's problems away, but tonight he gave in. He just didn't want to feel anymore. He tried to concentrate solely on his drink and not the happy faces celebrating all around him. He couldn't understand how these people could be so elated when so many people were killed. He hated them for rejoicing when all of his friends were dead. He hated them for not realizing how much they had sacrificed.

Finally having had enough, Harry paid for his drink and left the bar. No one noticed. He didn't care. He walked along down the street, barely paying attention to where his feet were taking him. Everywhere he looked he would see memories of his life from before. Every crash that he heard would remind him of one of the twin's jokes. Every red-head he saw would remind him of Ron. He heard a mother scolding one of her children, and for a second he swore it was Mrs. Weasley. He passed a bookstore with an add for a new book in the window. He saw the title and went to make a mental note to tell Hermione about it when he remembered that Hermione was gone.

What pained Harry the most was that he hadn't saved them. He had known that they would die—everybody died. But the fact that he had been within fifty feet of almost all of his friends when they died and he hadn't even tried to save them was slowly eating him apart.

He walked past a pet shop and glanced in the window. Cages upon cages of animals lined the wall, but what caught his eye was the cage of rats. Seeing one that looked exactly like Pettigrew, Harry turned and practically ran to his apartment.

Harry flung the door open and ran to bathroom. He threw up everything he had eaten in the past two days. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and leaned back against the wall. It was too much to deal with. All of his friends were dead. He had let every person that he cared about die, and yet that traitor still lived—because of him. Guilt consumed him more than it had since the day he defeated Voldemort. He let out an anguished sob and let the tears that had been struggling for the last week to escape fall.

As he cried, Harry pulled out his wand and summoned a knife from the kitchen. He had done what everyone wanted him to do. He had killed Voldemort. There was nothing left for him to do now. What was the point of going on?

Harry grasped the knife and sliced it across his wrist. The pain was instantaneous, but it wasn't enough. He cut himself again, watching the blood pour from his arm. After a few strikes, he rested his head against the wall, a slight smile on his face. The lack of blood was making him dizzy, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything as long as he didn't have to feel.

As his life trickled out of him, Harry silently apologized to all the people he hurt:

He apologized to Ron and Hermione for stopping them from getting married. He apologized to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for stopping them from watching their children grow up. He apologized to Fred and George for stopping them from reaching their dreams.

He apologized to Ginny for ending her life when she still had so much to live for. He apologized to Percy for ending his life when he had finally found peace with his family. He apologized to Charlie for ending his life when he had finally found a wife. He apologized to Bill for leaving him to be the last Weasley.

He apologized to his parents for letting them down. He apologized to Sirius for getting him killed. He apologized to Remus for making him watch all his friends die. He apologized to Dumbledore for taking his anger out on the old man.

He apologized to everyone for failing them.

**So, what did you think? Please review and let me know! **


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